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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27925891">Echoes of Age</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf/pseuds/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf'>0hHeyThereBigBadWolf</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lover Be Good To Me [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Merlin (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Do Not Re-Post To Another Site, Dragon Merlin (Merlin), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feels, Let Them Be Soft™, Multi, Necromancer Mordred, Polyamory, Sleepy Cuddles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:47:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,452</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27925891</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf/pseuds/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Old houses are the worst. They're never quiet, and Mordred can never get them to shut up.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Freya/Merlin (Merlin), Merlin &amp; Mordred (Merlin), Mordred/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lover Be Good To Me [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2044864</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Echoes of Age</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>1.42….</p><p>1.43….</p><p>1.44….</p><p>Mordred sighs and rolls over to stare up at the darkened ceiling of his bedroom, looking away from the dull red light of his clock. He pushes away the blankets and gets up, shivering at the cold floor under his bare feet. After scavenging a pair of socks in the dark, he pulls on his hoodie and shuffles downstairs. He might just walk around the house a few times, see if he can't trick himself tired again. He doubts it'll work, though. His skin <em>itches</em> from the magic crawling through him; he needs to do some kind of raising soon. Maybe he'll be able to find a circle around here that he can join. Everyone in London is connected to the Guild.</p><p>He eases his bedroom door closed behind him and starts shuffling down the hallway, hands in the pocket of his hoodie, looking up at the tapestries on the walls, paintings of old relatives of Arthur's. Mordred tries to repress a shiver as he ventures down into the kitchen. After months of staying in small quarters—his old room in the Guild, the shared flat in the old block—it's almost surreal to be here, in the Pendragon estate. This place is so…big. He's never been in a house this big before. Hell, he's never even <em>seen</em> a house this big, except on the telly or in those magazines with the shiny pages. Arthur says this place has belonged to his family since before the Kingdoms were united, and Mordred isn't sure if he's taking the piss or not. Sometimes it does feel that way. Even without reaching with his magic, he can feel the <em>age </em>in the stones, the echoes of history that resonate through the entire structure, a resonance that can't be imitated, only created through years and years of accumulated memory. The modern furnishings don't exactly help, either, just create a strange dissonance that make the noise worse.</p><p>Sighing, he looks around the kitchen, reaching up to run a hand over the smooth wood of the cabinet doors; if he closes his eyes, he can feel the echo of the tree's life, sun and soil and rain until come the cold bite of a saw. Mordred pulls his hand away. He definitely needs to find out if there's an animator's circle about before he starts seeing ghosts or raising dead. He imagines there's more than enough of them here, in a place this old. The last thing they need is some long-dead ancestor of Arthur's popping up from under the floorboards.</p><p>"You know, it would help if you actually opened the cupboards," Merlin drawls, and Mordred whirls around to see the dragon sitting on the kitchen island where he certainly <em>hadn't</em> been a moment ago. "Or are you just not hungry?"</p><p>Relaxing, he shrugs and hooks his arms around himself, rubbing both hands over his arms. He knows he's hugging himself, but he can't bring himself to care. "Can't sleep. Told you," he adds wryly. He'd chosen a room near the staircase for a reason.</p><p>"So you did. You can hear the house, too, can't you?" Merlin's voice is surprisingly sympathetic. He rolls his head back on his neck to look at the ceiling; the kitchen lights play blue-purple in his black hair, like the iridescence on his scales. "I can tone it out after a while, but I have to get used to it first. That's the unfortunate part. I think it's because my kind live so long. An age thing. And it's the necromancy for you, isn't it? Echoes of life?"</p><p>"Yeah. It gets worse if I haven't practiced in a while, let off the pressure." Leaning back against the shiny countertop, Mordred shoves his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, pulling his shoulders up. It'll help if he doesn't touch anything, at least for now. "Can I ask you something?"</p><p>"Mm?"</p><p>"Freya told me that it was your idea, all of…" He sketches a vague gesture in the air. "…this. All of…you."</p><p>"Us." The corner of Merlin's mouth curves up. <em>"Us,</em> Mordred. And yes, it was. Why?"</p><p>"I don't know, it's just…it's not exactly everyone's first thought." He doesn't precisely know how to ask it, how Merlin came to the decision that when in doubt, date everyone. Arthur was right when he described it as gang activity. It isn't like there's any other tactful way to say, <em>oh, by the way, there's about ten people in this relationship.</em></p><p>The little half-smile grows, flashing the edge of his canine teeth. They're just a little too long, a little too sharp to be human. His are always like that, but Freya and Lance, they get that way too the week of the full moon, delicate little kitty-cat fangs. "Maybe not every <em>human's</em> first thought, but my kind? This is…fairly standard," he explains, spreading his hands. "A mate is one thing, but skin privilege…it's a gift to be given freely. I believe the only thing unusual about this arrangement is that I've collected such a variety. Skinchangers, practitioners, humans and almost, and not a single other dragon."</p><p>"Is that why you did it? Because you wanted your own…gang?" Mordred muses.</p><p>Merlin is quiet a moment, thoughtful, tapping his nails against the countertop behind him. "In a way. There's strength in numbers, especially when there's clans at war, and we keep to our own. Except I've never much belonged with my own," he says, voice lowering slightly. "My mother…is human, and in their eyes, my being the scion of the line of Ambrosius cannot make up for my…less-than-substantial bloodline."</p><p>He isn't certain how to reply to that. To say sorry sounds empty, to say he understands would be a lie, but to say nothing seems cold. So instead, he crosses the kitchen and leans against the island next to Merlin, close enough that their shoulders touched, and he leans into the other man, just enough to be felt.</p><p>"I…collected all of you because I didn't want to be alone," Merlin murmurs, voice lower now that they're closer. "And who better to understand that than the lonely?"</p><p>Mordred nods, resting his head on the dragon's shoulder. Maybe that's why they all fit together so well, because they didn't fit anywhere else. Pulling his hand from his pocket, he loops his arm through Merlin's, hugging the limb against him, and he feels the warm tickle of breath on his scalp as Merlin presses lips to his hair.</p><p>"Your hair smells nice."</p><p>"Thank you." He closes his eyes and breathes in the starting-to-be-familiar smell of burning cedar, sweetgrass, and brimstone, relaxing into Merlin's power. Dragon magic feels unique, unlike any other skinchanger. It's cool and immovable on its face, but beneath it, there's a sense of vast heat and strength, like magma beneath the surface of the earth. He finds it comforting. Safe. Mordred is scarcely familiar to the feeling of being safe. "Do you think it'll be quieter if we leave our own echoes here?" he asks.</p><p>Merlin exhales, ruffling his hair. "Yeah. I think so." Another soft kiss in his hair. "Do you think you'll be able to sleep?"</p><p>"Maybe. Can I sleep in the master?" A heartbeat or three might help drown out the sound of the house, something warm and alive.</p><p>"Freya steals the blankets."</p><p>"I'll snuggle with Arthur."</p><p>"Good call. Come on."</p><p>The curtains are open in the master bedroom, so there's just enough moonlight for Mordred to see the bed and the people in it. Freya has rolled herself into a silk-sheet burrito on the far side, presumably occupying the warm spot Merlin had vacated. Arthur's sprawled out over the rest of the bed, one arm slung over Freya, maybe in an attempt to reclaim some of the covers. Merlin winks at him and steps around to the other side, shifting Freya aside to reclaim his bed space.</p><p>Mordred swallows hard and shuffles closer, hesitantly reaching over to touch Arthur's arm. Arthur inhales deeply, stirring. The corner of his mouth lifts in a smile, and he rolls onto his side, arm lifting in invitation. Mordred slips into the bed, curling into Arthur's solid frame, heavy arm dropping over his waist and pulling him close. Arthur tucks his face against Mordred's neck; warm breath washes over the back of his neck, ruffling his hair.</p><p>On the other side of the bed, he can hear the silken whisper of rearranging sheets, Freya's drowsy murmuring and Merlin's answering rumble, and can feel the steady movement of Arthur's breathing against his back, and he lets himself settle into the soft hush of their noise.</p>
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